


The Muzzle

by KestrelGirl



Series: The Wasp-Eyed Girl [2]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Counted Word Fic, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Gen, Illustrations, Insanity, Short, Surgery, Sylvari (Guild Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelGirl/pseuds/KestrelGirl
Summary: Neasa survives her ordeal - at a heavy price.
Series: The Wasp-Eyed Girl [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645510
Kudos: 3





	The Muzzle

"Cut off her hair. We must make room for the new growth."

The Nightmare baroness barking this order is trying to restrain one of her own, who kicks, screams, and rants incoherently.

This unfortunate sylvari's initiation into the Nightmare Court had gone horribly wrong. The wasps that tormented her had laid eggs in her eyes, which grew into galls that blinded her and drove her mad. 

Their time is soon, now. The Court has to act quickly, before the galls hatch and - more than likely - kill her.

_She holds us. A dark thing. Night unwinding. We must be free. Let me- let us-_

__

Responding to the order, a knight seizes her head and slices through the living burl of hair-wood that coils to one side. 

"This must be done, Neasa." His words do nothing to comfort her, and she wails in pain. 

_It hurts. I bleed… I bleed light… ?_

"It's gone," he says once the deed is done.

The baroness replies. "Good. Send for the thornshaper."

In a few minutes, the lanky, spine-faced sylvari mage arrives. The baroness greets him: “Garbhán.” 

“Baroness. There is only one thing I can do,” he tells her, "and even that will not guarantee Neasa's life, let alone her sanity. But I can try. Keep her still."

_They hold me. I see sharp things. Evil things. The brightest blackness. It is time… let us -_

Garbhán takes a vial of liquid from his satchel. “Sleeping draught.” 

_The poison… they want to kill me… kill us... I… zzz…_

Neasa protests, rants, and tries to squirm free as the toxin drips into her mouth. Her unblinking eyes, already massive and bulging, widen even further. Then, seconds later, she is still, looking blankly upward as her breath evens. The knight and baroness let her go, lying her gently on the ground.

The thornshaper takes out a small blade and begins the task of prying out the galls. 

In four swift cuts, it’s over. Garbhán holds the iridescent orbs in his hands. They were so massive that their removal has caused much of Neasa’s face to seemingly collapse. They still live, and now all present can see the pupae inside them, their transformation into wasps nearly complete. 

“We’ll need to study these. We don’t want anyone else suffering like she has.” The thornshaper pauses as he puts them down.

“Now, we try to fix what we can. We can’t have her babbling. She’ll give us away. She’s better off with a muzzle.” 

The muzzle: a shaping technique that could break the most obstinate prisoner by the mere threat of using it. Though some sylvari helmets feature a similar design, this magic forces growth directly from the face, almost completely silencing the victim for good - and it’s designed to finish the job while awake. This is certainly a strange reason to use it, but it will do. And even though she’s blind, mute, and insane, the Court will find a use for their unfortunate ward. They could do that with damn near anyone.

Garbhán presses his palm against Neasa’s nose, and the leaves creep forth, the tan of the bark beneath. The other courtiers of her village watch as they wrap around her head. She seems to wake up for a moment, gasping and clutching at her throat, then the helmet lets her breathe again, quietly.

_Where are - …_

* * *

_I… where are you… where are… colors… feels so empty…_

Neasa regains consciousness days later. Her body is no longer screaming for air - but the galls, the old familiar friends inside her head, are gone. No more colors. No more buzzing. No more beautiful, psychedelic, imaginary world; only darkness, and dim traces of magic to help her navigate it.

Her voice is muffled by the leaves wrapped around her mouth.

_No, no…_

Then the helmet grows, completing its work. Its thorns burrow into what’s left of her face.

It seals her lips as she screams, a stifled wail for help that falls on deaf ears.

She'll never speak again.


End file.
